Blast from the past: a dream I'd had (this account was written on March 12, 1979):
Last night, in my dream, I was walking down the south side of Greystone Road, and somehow I entered a (probably moving) school bus somewhere in its middle. I walked forward, the driver told me I'd have to get off, stopped the bus, and opened the door. I got off, started walking west and again entered the bus in the middle of its right side. I walked up to the front, the driver told me I'd have to leave, I told him "I think this bus is a Klein bottle" and I jumped out.
Saturday 04.19.03
18 days ago (see below), I wrote
I love dreams. That reminds me, I should have more of them.And since then I've been having (and remembering) a lot of dreams. Some have been fun, some have been troubling, but all have been welcome.
I've had some success over the years inducing dreams just by saying I'll have them.
I remember a teacher in grade school giving a lesson about dreams. I spoke up and said I'd had dreams in which I knew I was dreaming. The teacher told me that wasn't possible. Amazing, the things you can learn in school.
Happy nineteenth.
Friday 04.18.03
One of my very favorite living things is a
huge
purple beech tree
on Long Island, a much loved tree, a tree that was already
good sized when William Robertson Coe
had it moved from Massachusetts in 1915. Coe's estate has been a
New York state park since the 1970s; it was a 19 mile bike ride from
my parents' house, a ride I made on many occasions as a teenager.
It was a felony to climb trees on the grounds (so the staff told me) but
I climbed there anyway--and this beech was the best tree for climbing,
bar none, that I encountered anywhere.
Sometimes I've thought that after my death, I'd like my ashes put in the ground underneath the tree's canopy, raw material to be absorbed by the roots and incorporated into the tree. I imagine the state wouldn't go for this; fulfilling my wish would have to be a guerilla operation (maybe a felony even), preferably carried out at 3 o'clock in the morning.
But. This beech, so virile and commanding when I knew it in the '70s, is now dying and is estimated to have no more than five years left. This news took me by surprise, and it saddens me. But I'm grateful and glad that the tree has been there.
Thursday 04.03.03
He who binds to himself a joy
doth the winged life destroy.
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
lives in Eternity's sunrise.
- William Blake (1757-1827)
Tuesday 04.01.03
I had a dream a few weeks ago that the water tower in my home town was being dismantled (it's big) and was mine for the asking if I wanted to cart it away. I was considering taking it, I thought it would be a nice thing to have in my front yard (I like the "only one on my block" feeling), but I changed my mind when I thought about how much time would be needed for periodic repainting.
I love dreams. That reminds me, I should have more of them.
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